LIBRARY OF CONGRESS. 

Shelf ..7PA6' ' ' 

UNITED STATES OF AMERICA. 



Poetical 



Prose Selections, 



Cincinnati Public Schools, 



1878. 



Press of 
■J. E. . MlliijS &s CO. 

124 WALNUT ST., CINCINNATI. 



Poetical 



Prose Selections, 



Cincinnati Public Schools, 
1878. 



Press of 
J. E,. MILLS &o CO. 

124 WALNUT ST., CINCINNATI. 



w* 2 - 



^ v 



TO THE TEACHERS. 



Memorizing and reciting by the pupils extracts contain- 
ing choice thoughts of our best writers, will, I trust, become 
an important feature in the Cincinnati Public Schools. 
There is nothing better calculated to improve the morals 
and elevate the tastes of the pupils. 

The following selections were made necessarily in great 
haste, and are therefore, not so complete, nor choice, as a 
whole, as I would desire. It is ray intention to make a 
thorough revision of these grade selections before the close 
of the present school year, and to assist me in this, I respect- 
fully request the teachers to send me such passages, or entire 
pieces, as in their judgment, are worthy. 

The teachers are expected to write on the black-boards 
the selections for the week; to see that the pupils thoroughly 
understand the meaning of each word and sentence, that 
they give the substance of each passage in their own lan- 
guage, and make the proper application of the same before 
requiring them to commit it to memory. 

The teachers of the upper grades are expected, also, to 
give short biographical sketches of the most prominent 
authors named. 

All the selections are to be recited, in concert, and indi- 
vidually, from the platform. 

JOHN E. PEASLEE, 

Superintendent of Schools. 



Intermediate Schools. 



gke&.a.:d:es .a. j^istjd b. 



i. 

We can not honor our country with too deep a reverence ; 
we can not love her with an affection too pure and fervent ; 
we can not serve her with an energy of purpose or a faith- 
fulness of zeal too steadfast and ardent. And what is our 
country? It is not the East, with her hills and her valleys, 
with her countless sails and the rocky ran^arts of her shores. 
It is not the North, with her thousand villages and her har- 
vest homes, with her frontiers of the lake and the ocean. It 
is not the "West, with her forest-seas and her inland isles, 
with her luxuriant expanses clothed in the verdant corn, with 
her beautiful Ohio and her majestic Missouri. Nor is it yet 
the South, opulent in the mimic snow of her cotton, in the 
rich plantations of the rustling cane, and in the golden robes 
of the rice-fields. What are these but the sister families of 
one greater, better, holier family, our country. — Grimhe. 



II. 
THE AMERICAN FLAG-. 

When Freedom, from her mountain height, 

Unfurled her standard to the air, 
She tore the azure robe of night, 

And set the stars of glory there; 
She mingled with its gorgeous dyes, 
The milky baldric of the skies, 
And striped its pure, celestial white 
With streakings of the morning light; 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Then, from his mansion in the sun, 
She called her eagle bearer down, 
And gave into his mighty hand 
The symbol of her chosen land. — Drake. 



III. 

When my eyes shall be turned to behold, for the last 
time the sun in heaven', may I not see him shining on the 
broken and dishonored fragments of a once glorious Union ; 
on states dissevered, discordant, belligerent; on a land rent 
with civil feuds, or di'enched, it may be, in fraternal blood ! 

Let their last feeble and lingering glance, rather, behold 
the gorgeous Ensign of the Republic, now known and 
honored throughout the earth, — still full high advanced, its 
arms and trophies streaming in their original lustre, not a 
stripe erased or polluted, nor a single star obscured, — bear- 
ing for its motto, no such miserable interrogatory as — 
" What is all this worth? " — nor those other words of delu- 
sion and folly — " Liberty first, and Union afterwards," — but, 
everywhere, spread all over in characters of living light, 
blazing on all its ample folds, as they float over the sea, and 
over the land, and in every wind under the whole Heavens, 
that other sentiment, dear to every true American heart — 
Liberty and Union, now and forever, one and inseparable ! 

— Webster. 



IV. 
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead, 
Who never to himself hath said, 

"■ This is my own, my native land ! " 
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burned, 
As home his footstejjs he hath turned, 

From wandering on a foreign strand ? 
If such there breathe, go, mark him well ; 
For him no minstrel-raptures swell. 



POETICAL AND PILOSE SELECTIONS. 



High though his titles, proud his name, 
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim ; 
Despite those titles, power, and pelf, 
The wretch concentered all in self, 
Living shall forfeit fair renoun, 
And, doubly dying, shall go down 
To the vile dust from whence he sprung, 
Unwept, unhonoi-ed, and unsung. — Scott. 



Y. 

Tell me, ye who make your pious pilgrimage to the 
shades of Vernon, is Washington indeed shut up in that cold 
and narrow house? That which made these men, and men 
like these, can not die. The hand that traced the charter 
of Independence is, indeed, motionless, the eloquent lips that 
sustained it are hushed ; but the lofty spirits that conceived, 
resolved, matured, maintained it, and which alone, to such 
men, " make it life to live," these can not expire : 

" These shall resist the empire of decay, 
When time is o'er, and worlds have passed away : 
Cold in the dust the perished heart may lie, 
But that which warmed it once, can never die." — Everett. 



VI. 

God hath a presence, and that you may see 

In the fold of the flower, the leaf of the tree ; 

In the sun of the noonday, the star of the night, 

In the storm-cloud of darkness, the rainbow of light; 

In the waves of the ocean, the furrows of land; 

In the mountain of granite, the atom of sand; 

Turn where ye may, from the sky to the sod, 

Where can ye gaze that ye see not a God? — Eliza Cook, 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



VII. 

We live in deeds, not years — in thoughts not breaths — 
In feelings, not in figures on a dial ; — 
We should count time by heart-throbs. He most lives, 
Who thinks most — feels the noblest — acts the best. 

— Bailey. 



VIII. 

-For virtue's gifts unfailing shall endure, 
When skies and suns and stars shall be no more, 
What heaving bosom breathes not forth one ardent sigh, 
To grasp the immortal prize and triumph in the joy ? 



IX. 
Give thy thoughts no tongue, 
Nor any unproportioned thought his act. 
Be thou familiar, but by no means vulgar, 
The friends thou hast, and their adoption tried, 
Grapple them to thy soul with hoooks of steel ; 
But do not dull thy palm with entertainment 
Of each new hatched, unfledged comrade. Beware 
Of entrance to a quarrel ; but, being in, 
Bear it that the opposer may beware of thee. 
Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice. 
Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment. 
Costly thy habit as thy purse can buy, 
But not expressed in fancy; rich, not gaudy : 
For the apparel oft proclaims the man. 
Neither a borrower nor a lender be : 
For loan oft loses both itself and friend ; 
And borrowing dulls the edge of husbandry. 
This above all — To thine own self be true, 
And it must follow, as the night the day, 
Thou can'st not then be false to any man. — Shakspeare. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



X. 

Nov:, is the constant S}ilable ticking from the clock of time ; 
Now, is the watchword of the wise; Now, is on the banner 

of the prudent. 
Cherish thy To-day, and prize it well, or ever it be gulfed into 

the past. 

XL 
Eoll on, thou deep and dark blue Ocean, — roll ! 

Ten thousand fleets sweep over thee in vain ; 
Man marks the earth with ruin — his control 

Stops with the shoi-e; — upon the watery plain 
The wrecks are all thy deed, nor doth remain 

A shadow of man's ravage, save his own, 
When, for a moment, like a drop of rain, 

He sinks into thy depths with a bubbling gi-oan, 

Without a grave, unknell'd, uncoffin'd and unknown. 

— Byron. 

XII. 
O may I join the choir invisible 
Of those immortal dead who live again 
In minds made better by their presence : — live 
In pulses stirred to generosity, 
In deeds of daring rectitude, in scorn 
For miserable aims that end with self, 
In thoughts sublime that pierce the night like stars, 
And with mild persistence urge men's search 
To vaster issues. 



XIII. 

Character into which right principles are implanted at 
its first forming is impressed indelibly. 

" Like the vase in which roses have once been distilled, 
You may break, you may shatter the vase if you will, 
But the scent of the roses will hang round it still." 



Poetical and prose selections. 



XIV. 
Resolve! resolve ! and to be men aspire. 

Exert that noblest privilege, alone 
Here to mankind indulged : control desire ! 

Let Godlike Reason, from her sovereign throne, 
Speak the commading word, I will ! and it is done ! 

— Thompson. 

XV. 

The smallest bark on Life's tumultuous ocean 

Will leave a track behind for evermore ; 
The lightest wave of influence, set in motion, 

Extends and widens to the eternal shore. 

We should be wary, then, who go before 
A myriad yet to be, and we should take 

Our bearing carefully, where breakers roar, 
And fearful tempests gather ; one mistake 
May wreck unnumbered barks that follow in our wake. 

— Mrs. Bolton. 



XVI. 

Reading maketh a full man, conference a ready man, 
and writing an exact man.— Bacon. 



XVII. 
I call, therefore, a complete generous education, that 
which fits a man to perform justly, skilfully, and mag- 
nanimously, all the offices, both private and public, of peace 
and of war. — Milton. 



XVIII. 
Alas for him who never sees 
The stars shine through his cypress trees, 
Who hopeless lays his dead away, 
Nor looks to see the breaking day 
Across the mournful marbles play. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Who hath not learned in hours of faith 
The truth to flesh and sense unknown, 

That Life is ever Lord of Death, 
And love can never lose its own ! 



XIX. 

The dreamers who gaze while we battle the waves, 

May see us in sunshine or shade; 
Yet true to our course, though our shadow grow dark, 

We'll trim our broad sail as before, 
And stand by the rudder that governs our bark, 

Nor ask how we look from the shore. — Holmes. 



XX. 

The quality of mercy is not strained : 
It droppeth as the gentle rain from heaven 
Upon the place beneath : it is twice blessed ; 
It blesseth him that gives and him that takes. 
'Tis mightiest in the mighty ; it becomes, 
The throned monarch better than his crown. 

— Shakspeare. 

XXI. 
Twas thine own genius gave the fatal blow, 
And help'd to plant the wound that laid thee low. 
So the struck eagle, stretch'd upon the plain, 
No more though rolling clouds to soar again, 
View'd his own feather on the fatal dart 
And wing'd the shaft that quiver'd in his heart. 
Keen were his pangs, but keener far to feel 
He nurs'd the pinion that impelled the steel, 
While the same plumage that had warmed nis nest, 
Drank the last life-drop of his bleeding breast.— Byron. 



POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 



XXII. 
Friendship is not a plant of hasty growth ; 

Though planted in esteem's deep fixed soil, 
The gradual culture of kind intercourse 

Must bring it to perfection. — Joanna Baillie. 



XXIII. 

Measure not thy carriage by any man's eye, 

Thy speech by no man's ear; be resolute. 

And confident in saying and in doing ; 

This is the grace of a right gentleman. — Chapman. 



XXIV. 

Lichens and Mosses — how of these? Meek creatures? 
the first mercy of the earth, veiling with hushed softness its 
dintless rocks ; creatures full of pity, covering with strange 
and tender honor the scarred disgrace of ruin — laying quiet 
fingers on the trembling stones, to teach them rest. * * * 
— yet all subdued and pensive, framed for simplest, sweetest 
offices of grace. They will not be gathered, like the flowers 
for the chaplet or love-token, but of these the wild bird will 
make his nest, and the wearied child his pillow. 

And as the earth's first mercy, so they are its last gift to 
us. When all other service is vain, from plant and tree, the 
soft mosses and gray lichens will take up their watch by the 
head-stone. The woods, the blossoms, the gift-bearing grasses, 
have done their part for a time, but these do service forever. 
Trees for the builder's yard, flowers for the bride's chamber, 
corn for the granary, moss for the grave. — Buskin. 



XXV. 

So live, that when thy summons comes to join 

The innumerable caravan, which moves 

To that mysterious realm, where each shall take 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Hia chamber in the silent halls of death, 
Thou go not, like the quarry-slave at night, 
Scourged to his dungeon, but, sustained and soothed 
By an unfaltering trust, approach thy grave, 
Like one who wraps the drapery of his couch 
About him, and lies down to pleasant dreams. 

— Bryant. 



XXVI. 
BOOKS. 

Just such is the feeling which a man of liberal education 

naturally entertains toward the great minds of former ages. 
The debt which he owes to them is incalculable. They have 
guided him to truth. They have filled his mind with noble 
and graceful images. They have stood by him in all vicis- 
situdes — comforts in sorrow, nurses in sickness, companions 
in solitude. These friendships are exposed to no dangers 
from the occurrences by which other attachments are 
weakened or dissolved. Time glides by; fortune is incon- 
sistent; tempers are soured; bonds which seemed indissoluble 
are daily sundered by interest, by emulation, or b}^ caprice. 
But no such cause can effect the silent converse which we 
hold with the highest of human intellect. That placid inter- 
course is disturbed by no jealousies or resentments. 

These are the old friends who are never seen with new 
faces, who are the same in wealth and in poverty, in glory 
and in obscurity. With the dead there is no rivalry. In 
the dead there is no change. Plato is never sullen. Cer- 
vantes is never petulant. Demosthenes never comes un- 
seasonably. Dante never stays too long. No difference of 
political opinion can alienate Cicero. No hei-esy can excite 
the horror of Boussuet. — Macaulay. 



poetical and prose selections. 



XXVII. 

There is a tide in the affairs of men, 

That, taken at the flood, leads on to fortune; 

Omitted, all the voyage of their life 

Is bound in shallows and in miseries. — Shakspeare. 



XXVIII. 

I seem to have been only like a little boy playing on the 
sea-shore, and diverting myself in now and then finding a 
smoother pebble, or a prettier shell than ordinary, whilst the 
great ocean of truth lay all undiscovered before me. — Isaac 

Newton. 



XXIX. 

A good book is the precious life-blood of a master-spirit, 
embalmed and treasured up on purpose to a life beyond life. 

— Milton. 



XXX. 

Sweet are the uses of adversity, 

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous, 

Wears yet a precious jewel in his head ; 

And thus our life, exempt from public haunt, 

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks, 

Sermons in stones and good in everything. — Shakspeare. 



XXXI. 

At length the orator concluded. Eaising his voice till 
the old arches of Irish oak resounded — "Therefore," said he, 
hath it with all confidence been ordered by the Commons of 
Great Britain, that I impeach Warren Hastings of high 
crimes and misdemeanors. I impeach him in the name of the 
Commons House of Parliament, whose trust he has betrayed. 
I impeach him in the name of the English nation, whose 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



ancient honor he has sullied. I impeach him in the name ofthe 
people of India, whose rights he has trodden under foot, and 
whose country he has turned into a desert. Lastly, I im- 
peach him in the name of human nature itself, in the name 
of both sexes, in the name of every age, in the name of every 
rank, I impeach the common enemy and oppressor of all. 

— Burke. 

XXXII. 

"Who steals my purse, steals trash; 'tis something, nothing, 
'Twas mine, 'tis his, and has been slave to thousands : 
But he, who niches from me my good name, 
Eobs me of that which not enriches him, 
And makes me poor indeed. — Shakspeare. 



XXXIII. 
From the TEIAL OF WAEEEN HASTINGS. 

There were seen side by side the greatest painter and 
the greatest scholar of the age. The spectacle had allured 
Eeynolds from his easel which has preserved to us the 
thoughtful foreheads of so many writers and statesmen, and 
the sweet smiles of so many noble matrons. It had induced 
Parr to suspend his labors in that dark and profound mine 
from which he had extracted a vast treasure of erudition — 
a treasure too often buried in the earth, too often paraded 
with injudicious and inelegant ostentation; but still pricous, 
massive and splendid. — Macaulay. 



XXXIV. 

What is life? 'Tis a delicate shell, 

Cast up by eternity's flow, 
A few hours on the quick-sand to dwell, 

For a moment it's wonder and show ; 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



Gone back to the elements grand, 
Is the wave that heaved it ashore; 

See another washing the strand, 
And the beautiful shell is no more. 



XXXV. 

CUEEAN'S ADDEESS TO LOED AVONMOEE. 

This soothing hope I draw from the dearest and tender - 
est recollections of my life — from the remembrance of those 
attic nights, and those refections of the gods, which we 
have spent with those admired, and respected, and beloved 
companions, who have gone before us; over whose ashes the 
most precious tears of Ireland have been shed. Yes, my 
good Lord, I see you do not forget them. I see their sacred 
forms passing in sad review before your memory. I see 
your pained and softened fancy recalling those happy meet- 
ings, where the innocent enjoyment of social mirth became 
expanded into the noble warmth of social virtue, and the 
horizon of the board became enlarged into the horizon of the 
man — where the swelling heart conceived and communicated 
the pure and generous purpose — where my slenderer and 
younger taper imbibed its borrowed light from the more 
matured and redundant fountain of yours. Yes, my Lord, 
we can remember those nights without any other regret than 
that they can never more return. 



c3-:r,^l:de: a. 



XXXVI. 
A PSALM OF LIFE. 
Tell me not, in mournful numbers, 

Life is but an empty dream ! 
For the soul is dead that slumbers, 
And things are not what they seem. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Life is real ! Life is earnest ! 

And the grave is not its goal ; 
Dust thou art, to dust returnest, 

Was not spoken of the soul. 
Not enjoyment, and not sorrow, 

Is our destined end or way ; 
But to act, that each to-morrow 

Find us farther than to-day. 
Art is long, and Time is fleeting, 

And our hearts, though stout and brave, 
Still, like muffled drums are beating 

Funeral marches to the grave. 
XXXVII. 
In the world's broad field of battle, 

In the bivouac of Life, 
Be not like dumb, driven cattle ! 

Be a hero in the strife ! 
Trust no Future, howe'er pleasant ! 

Let the dead Past bury its dead ! 
Act — act in the living Present ! 

Heart within, and God o'erhead. 
Lives of great men all remind us 

We can make our lives sublime, 
And, departing, leave behind us 

Foot-prints on the sands of time. 
Foot-prints, that perhaps another, 

Sailing o'er life's solemn main, 
A forlorn and shipwrecked brother, 

Seeing, shall take heart again. 
Let us, then, be up and doing, 

With a heart for any fate ; 
Still achieving, still pursuing, 

Learn to labor and to wait. — Longfellow, 



POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 



XXXVIII. 

Beneath those rugged elms, that yew-tree's shade, 

Where heaves the turf in many a mold'ring heap, 
Each in his narrow cell forever laid, 

The rude forefathers of the hamlet sleep. 
Let not ambition mock their useful toil, 

Their homely joys, and destiny obscure; 
Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile 

The short and simple annals of the poor. — Gray. 



XXIX. 

Who does the best his circumstance allows 
Does well, acts nobly — angels could do no more. 

— Young's Night Thoughts. 



XL. 
Better to weave in the web of life 
A bright and golden filling, 
And to do God's will with a ready heart, 
And hands that are prompt and willing, 
Than to snap the delicate, minute threads 
Of our curious lives asunder, 
And then blame heaven for the tangled ends, 
And sit and grieve and wonder. 



XLI. 
Bead this declaration at the head of the army ; every 
sword will be drawn, and the solemn vow uttered to main- 
tain it, or perish on the bed of honor. Bublish it from the 
pulpit; religion will approve it, and the love of religious 
liberty will cling around it, resolved to stand with it, or fall 
with it. Send it to the public halls; proclaim it there; let 
them see it, who saw their brothers and their sons fall on the 
field of Bunker Hill, and in the streets of Lexington and 
Concord, and the very walls will cry in its support, 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Sir, before God, I believe the hour is come. My judg- 
ment approves the measure, aud my whole heart is in it. All 
that I have, and all that I am, and all that I hope in this 
life, I am now ready here to stake upon it; and I leave off 
as I began, that, live or die, survive or perish, I am for the 
declaration. It is my living sentiment, and, by the blessing 
of God, it shall be my dying sentiment; independence now, 
and independence eorever. — Webster. 



XLII. 

If you can not in the conflict 

Prove yourself a soldier true ; 
If, where fire and smoke are thickest, 

There's no work for 3 t ou to do; 
When the battle-field is silent, 

You can go with careful tread, 
You can bear away the wounded, 

You can cover up the dead. 

Do not then stand idly waiting 

For some greater work to do ! 
Fortune is a lazy goddess, 

She will never come to you. 
Go and toil in any vineyard, 

Do not fear to do or dare, 
If you want a field of labor, 

You can find it any-where. — Mrs. Gates. 

XLIII. 

J3UBIAL OF SIE JOHN MOOEE. 
Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, 

As his corse to the rampart we hurried ; 
Not a soldier discharged his farewell shot 

O'er the grave where our hero was buried. 



18 POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 

We buried him darkly, at dead of night, 

The sods with our bayonets turning, 
By the struggling moonbeam 's misty light, 

And the lantern dimly burning. 

No useless coffin inclosed bis breast, 

Not in sheet nor in shroud we wound him ; 

But he lay like a warrior taking his rest, 
With his martial cloak around him. 

Few and short were the prayers we said, 

And we spoke not a word of sorrow ; 
And we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead, 

And we bitterly thought of the morrow. 

XLIV. 

We thought, as we hollowed his narrow bed, 

And smoothed down his lonely pillow, 
That the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, 

And we far away on the billow. 

Lighthy they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, 

And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; 
But little he'll reck if they'll let him sleep on 

In the grave where a Briton has laid him. 

But half of our heavy task was done, 

When the clock struck the hour for retiring; 

And we heard the distant and random gun 
Which the foe was sullenly firing. 

Slowly and sadly we laid him down, 

From the field of his fame, fresh and gory ; 

We carved not a tyne, and we raised not a stone; 

But we left him alone with his glory. — Charles Wolfe. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



XLV. 

The Sorrow for the dead is the only sorrow from which 
we refuse to be divorced. Every other wound we seek to 
heal ; every other affliction, to forget ; but this wound, we 
consider it a duty to keep open. This affliction we cherish, 
and brood over in solitude. Where is the mother, who would 
willingly forget the infant that has perished like a blossom 
from her arms, though every recollection is a pang? Where 
is the child that would willingly forget a tender parent, 
though to remember be but to lament? Who, even in the 
hour of agony, would forget the friend over whom he mourns? 

No, the love which survives the tomb is one of the 
noblest attributes of the soul. If it has its woes, it has like- 
wise its delights ; and when the overwhelming burst of grief 
is calmed into the gentle tear of recollection ; when the 
sudden anguish and the convulsive agony over the present 
ruins of all that we most loved, is softened away into pensive 
meditation on all that it was in the days of its loveliness, 
who would root out such a sorrow from the heart? Though 
it may sometimes, throw a passing cloud over the bright 
hour of gayety, or spread a deeper sadness over the hour of 
gloom, yet, who would exchange it, even for the song of 
pleasure, or the burst of revelry ? No, there is a voice from 
the tomb sweeter than song. There is a remembrance of the 
dead to which we turn even from the charms of the living. 



- XLVI. 
Be wise to-day ; 'tis madness to defer; 
Next day the fatal precedent will plead ; 
Thus on till wisdom is pushed out of life. 
Procrastination is the thief of time ; 
Year after year it steals, till all are fled, 
And to the mercies of a moment leaves 
The vast concerns of an eternal scene. 

—Dr. Young. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



XLVII. 
Forgive and forget ! — why the world would be lonely, 

The garden a wilderness left to deform, 
If the flowers but remember'd the chilling winds only, 
And the fields gave no verdure for fear of the storm. 

— Charles Swain. 



XLVII1. 
Press on ! surmount the rocky 

Climb boldly o'er the torrent's arch ; 
He fails alone who feebly creeps ; 

He wins who dares the hero's march. 
Be thou a hero ! let thy might 

Tramp on eternal snows its way, 
And through the ebon walls of night, 

Hew down a passage unto day. 

— Park Benjamin. 



XLIX. 
Beware of too sublime a sense 
Of your own worth and consequence! 
The man who dreams himself so great, 
And his importance of such weight, — 
That all around, — that all that's done,- 
Must move and act for him alone, — 
Will learn in school of tribulation 
The folly of his expectation. 



L. 
There is a pleasure in the pathless woods, 

There is rapture on the lonely shore, 
There is society, where none intrudes 

By the deep sea, and music in its roar. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



LI. 
The spacious firmament on high 
With all the blue ethereal sky, 
And spangled heavens, a shining frame, 
Their great Original proclaim ; 
The unwearied sun, from day to day, 
Doth his Creator's power display, 
And publishes to every land 
The work of an Almighty hand. — Addison. 



LIT. 

The brightest stars are burning suns: 
The deepest water stillest runs; 
The laden bee the lowest flies ; 
The richest mine the deepest lies ; 
The stalk that's most replenish'd, 
Doth bow the most its modest head. 
Thus deep Humility we find 
The mark of every master-mind. 



LIII. 

0, list to the moments! though little they seem, 
They are bearing your bark on a swift, silent stream ; 
And onward, still onward, you glide from the shore, 
To that vast, boundless ocean where time is no more. 
Take heed to the moments; for with them they bear 
Of gems the most precious, and diamonds rare. 
Take care of the moments ; for life's but a span ; 
Then carefully hoard them, O vain, dreaming man! 

— J. L. Eggleston. 

LIV. 
They tell us, that we are weak ; unable to cope with so 
formidable an adversary. But when shall we be stronger? 
Will it be the next week, or the next year? Will it be, when 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



we are totally disarmed, and when a British guard shall be 
stationed in every house ? Shall we gather strength by irreso- 
lution and inaction ? Shall we acquire means of effectual 
resistance by lying supinely on our backs, and hugging the 
delusive jahantom of hope, until our enemies shall have bound 
us hand and foot? We are not weak, if we make the proper 
use of those means, which the God of nature hath placed in 
our power. 

Three millions of people, armed in the holy cause of 
liberty' , and in such a country as that which we possess, are 
invincible by any force which our enemy can send against us. 
Besides, we shall not fight our battles — alone'. There is a 
just God who presides over the destinies of nations ; and 
who will raise up friends to fight our battles for us. The 
battle is not to the strong alone; it is to the vigilant — the 
active — the brave. Besides, we have no election. If we 
were base enough to desire it, it is now too late to retire from 
the contest. There is no retreat but in submission and 
slavery! Our chains are forged. Their clanking may be 
heard on the plains of Boston ! The war is inevitable; and 
let it come/ 1 repeat it, let it come ! — Patrick Henry. 



LV. 

We have not wings, we can not soar ; 

But we have feet to scale and climb, 
By slow degrees, by more and more, 

The cloudy summits of our time. 

The mighty pyramids of stone 

That wedge-like cleave the desert airs, 
When nearer seen and better known, 

Are but gigantic flights of stairs. 

The distant mountains, that uprear 
Thei-r solid bastions to the skies. 



POETICAL A^D PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Are crossed by pathways, that appear 
As we to higher levels rise. 

The heights by great men reached and kept, 
Were not attained by sudden flight, 

But they, while their companions slept, 

Were toiling upward in the night. — Bryant. 



LVI. 

Do good, O man immortal ! Live for something. Do 
good, and leave behind you a monument of virtue that the 
storm of time can never destroy. Write your name in kind- 
ness, love, and mercy, on the heai'ts of thousands you come 
in contact with, — year by year, — and you will never be for- 
gotten. No, your name, your deeds, will be legible on the 
hearts you leave behind as the stars on the brow of evening. 
Good deeds will shine as the stars of heaven. 



LVII. 

Far along, 
From peak to peak, the rattling crags among, 
Leaps the live thunder ! — nor from one lone cloud, 
But every mountain now hath found a tongue ; 
And Jura answers through her misty shroud, 
Back to the joyous Alps, who call to her aloud ! 



LVIII. 
See how the day beameth brigtly before us ! 
Blue is the firmament, green is the earth ; 
Life is ringing with music and mirth. 
Lift up thy eyes, that are looking in sadness; 
G-aze ! and, if beauty can rapture thy soul, 
Virtue herself shall allure thee to gladness — 
Gladness! philosophy's guardian and goal. 

— From the German, 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



LIX. 

EvERy boy should have his head, his heart, and his 
hand educated. Let this truth never be forgotten. By the 
proper education of the head, he will be taught what is good 
and what is evil, what is wise and what is foolish, what is 
right and what is wrong. By the proper education of the 
heart, he will be taught to love what is good, wise, and right, 
and to hate what is evil, foolish, and wrong. And by proper 
education of the hand, he will be enabled to supply his 
wants, to add to his comforts, and to assist those around him. 
The highest objects of a good education are to reverence and 
obey God, and to love and serve mankind. Every thing 
that helps us in attaining these objects, is of great value, and 
every thing that hinders us is comparatively worthless. 
When wisdom reigns in the head, and love in the heart, the 
man.is ever ready to do good ; order and peace reign around, 
and sin and sorrow are almost unknown. 

LX. 

Evert young man is now a sower of seed on the field of 
life. The bright days of youth are the seed-time. Every 
thought of your intellect, every emotion of your heart, 
every word of your tongue, every principle you adopt, every 
act you perform, is a seed, whose good or evil fruit will 
prove bliss or bane of your after life. — Wise. 



LXI. 

Child, amidst the flowers at play, 
While the red light fades away ; 
Mother, with thine earnest eye 
Ever following silently ; 
Father, by the breeze of eve 
Called thy harvest-work to leave, — 
Pray! ere yet the dark hours be, 
Lift the heart, and bend the knee ! 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



Traveler, in the stranger's land, 
Far from thine own household band ; 
Mourner, haunted by the tone 
Of a voice from this world gone ; 
Captive, in whose narrow cell 
Sunshine hath not leave to dwell ; 
Sailor, on the darkening sea, — ■ 
Lift the heart, and bend the knee ! 

Warrier, that from battle won 

Breathest now at set of sun ; 

Woman, o'er the lowly slain 

Weeping on his burial plain ; 

Ye that triumph ; ye that sigh, — 

Kindred by one holy tie, 

Heaven's first star alike ye see : 

Lift the heart, and bend the knee \—Mrs. Hemans. 



LXII. 

There is a land of every land the pride, 
Beloved by Heaven o'er all the world beside, 
Where brighter suns dispense serener light, 
And milder moons imparadise the night ; 
Oh, thou shalt find, howe'er thy footsteps roam, 
That land — thy country, and that spot — th} r home. 



LXIII. 
Flag of the free heart's hope and home, 

By angel hands to valor given, 
Thy stars have lit the welkin dome, 

And all thy hues were born in heaven ! 
Forever float that standard sheet! 

Where breathes the foe but falls before us, 
With Freedom's soil beneath our feet, 

And Freedom's banner streaming o'er us ! — J. R. Brake. 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



LXIV. 
There's a fierce gray bird, with a bending beak, 
With an angry eye and a startling shriek, 
That nurses her brood where the cliff flowers blow, 
On the precipice top, in perpetual snow ; 
That sits where the air is shrill and bleak, 
On the splintered point of a shivered peak, 
Bald-headed and stripped, like a vulture, torn 
In wind and strife ! 

'Tis the bird of our banner, the free bird that braves, 
When the battle is there, all the wrath of the waves ! 

— JSfeal. 



LXV. 

As jewels incased in a casket of gold, 
Where the richest of treasures we hide ; 

So our purest of thoughts lie deep and untold, 
Like the gems that are under the tide. 



LXVI. 

Life should be full of earnest work, 

Our hearts undashed by fortune's frown; 

Let perseverance conquer fate, 

And merit seize the victor's crown ; 

The battle is not to the strong, 

The race not always to the fleet, 

And he who seeks to pluck the stars, 

Will lose the jewels at his feet.—fhebe Gary. 



District Schools. 



q-:r..a_:d:e j±. 



i. 

Truth crushed to earth shall rise again ; 

The eternal years of God are hers ; 
But error, wounded, writhes with pain, 

And dies among his worshipers. Bryant. 



II. 
The sandal tree perfumes, when riven, 

The ax that laid it low : 
Let man, who hopes to be forgiven, 

Forgive and bless his foe. — Sadi. 



III. 
The bird that soars on highest wing 

Builds on the ground her lowly nest; 
And she that doth most sweetly sing, 

Sings in the shade when all things rest; 
In Lark and Nightingale we see 

What honor hath humility. — Montgomery. 



IV. 
There is a day of sunny rest 

For every dark and troubled night ; 
And grief may bide an evening guest, 

But joy shall come with early light. — Bryant. 



28 POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

V. 

To tell a falsehood is like the cut of a saber ; for though 
the wound may heal, the scar of it will remain. — Sadi. 



VI. 

Better than grandeur, better than gold, 
Than rank or titles, a hundred-fold, 
Is a healthy body, and a mind at ease, 
And simple pleasures that always please. 
A heart that can feel for a neighbor's woe, 
And share in his joy with a friendly glow, 
With sympathies large enough to infold 
All men as brothers, is better than gold. 

— Alexander Smart. 



VII. 
Don't crowd ; the world is large enough 

For you as well as me ; 
The doors of all are open wide — 

The realm of thought is free. 
In all earth's places you are right 

To choose the best you can — 
Provided that you do not try 

To crowd some other man. 

Don't crowd the good from out your heart 

By fostering all that's bad, 
But give to every virtue room — 

The best that may be had: 
To each day's record such a one 

That you might well be proud : 
Grive each his right — give each his room, 

And never try to crowd. — Charles Dickens. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 29 

VIII. 
A pebble in the streamlet scant 

Has turned the course of many a river; 
A dew-drop on the infant plant 

Has warped the giant oak forever. 



IX. 

Dare to do right! dare to be true ! 

The failings of others can never save you 

Stand by your conscience, your honor, your faith, 

Stand like a hero, and battle till death. 



X. 
Have Love ! not love for one ; 

But man as man, thj^ brother call 
And scatter, like the circling sun, 

Thy charities on all. — Schiller. 



XI. 

Trip lightly over trouble, 

Trip lightly over wrong ; 
We only make grief double 

By dwelling on it long. 
Fain hope has not departed 

Though roses may have fled 
Then never be down-hearted, 

But look for joy instead ! 



XII. 
That very law which moulds the tear, 

And bids it trickle from its source, 
That law preserves this world a sphere, 

And guides the planets in their course ! 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



XIII. 

Over and over again, 

No matter which way I turn, 
I always find in the book of life. 

Some lesson that I must learn ; 
1 must take my turn at the mill, 

I must grind out the golden grain 
I must work at my task with a resolute wil 

Over and over as-ain. 



XIV. 

I live for those who love me, 

"Whose hearts are kind and true, 
For the heaven that smiles above me, 

And awaits my spirit too ; 
For all human ties that bind me, 
For the task by God assigned me, 
For the bright hopes left behind me, 
And the good that I can do. 

I live to hail that season, 

By gifted minds foretold, 
When man shall live by reason, 

And not alone by gold ; 
When man to man united, 
And every wrong thing righted, 
The whole world shall be lighted, 

As Eden was of old. 

I live for those who love me, 
For those who know me true, 

For the heaven that smiles above me, 
And awaits my spirit too ; 



POETICAL AXD PKOSE SELECTIONS. 



For the cause that lacks assistance, 
For the wrong that needs resistance, 
For the future in the distance, 
And the good that I can do. 



XV. 
First. I would have thee chei^ish truth, 

As leading-star in virtue's train ; 
Folly may pass, nor tarnish youth, 

But Falsehood leaves a poison-stain. 



XVI. 

For freedom's battle once begun, 
Bequeathed from bleeding sire to son 
Though baffled oft, is ever won.— Byron. 



XVII. 
Sweet clime of my kindred, blest land of my birth ! 
The fairest, the dearest, the brightest on earth ! 
Where'er 1 may roam — howe'er blest I may be, 
My spirit instinctively turns unto the! 



XVIII. 
Full many a gem, of purest ray serene, 

The dark unfathomed caves of ocean bear; 
Full many a flower is born to blush unseen, 

And waste its sweetness on the desert air. — Gray. 



XIX. 

Honor and shame from no condition rise : 

Act well thy part, — there all the honor lies. —Pope. 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



XX. 

There's an odd little voice ever speaking within, 
That prompts us to duty and warns us from sin, 
And, what is most strange, it will make itself heard, 
Though it gives not a sound and &&y& never a word. 

It is sure to upbraid if we tell but a lie, 
Nor will let the least evil pass silently by ; 
Nor is it less slow to commend than reprove, 
But praises each action of goodness and love. 



XXI. 

If men were wise in little things, 

Affecting less in all their dealings, 
If hearts had fewer rusted strings 
To isolate their kindly feelings ; 
If men, when wrong beats down the right, 
Would strike together and restore it — 
If right made might 
In every fight, 
The world would be the better for it." 



XXII. 

Ponder well, and know the right, 
Onward then, with all thy might ! 
Haste not ! years can ne'er atone 
For one reckless action done. — Goethe. 



XXIII 
O humbly take what God bestows, 

And like his own fair flowers, 
Look up in sunshine with a smile, 

And humbly bend in showers, 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 33 

XXIV. 
The proudest motto for the young! 

Write it in lines of gold 
Upon thy heart, and in thy mind 

The stirring words enfold : 
And in misfortune's dreary hour, 

Of fortune's prosperous gale, 
Twill have a holy cheering power 

There's no such word as fail. — Alice G. Lee. 



XXV. 

The soul of origin divine 

God's glorious image freed from cla}^; 
In heaven's eternal sphere shall shine 

A star of day. 
The sun is but a spark of fire, — 

A transient meteor in the sky : 
The soul immortal as its sire 

Shall never die. 



XXVI. 

Little Builders ! build away ! 
Little Builders ! build to-day ! 
Build a temple pure and bright, 
Build it up in deeds of light; 
Lay the corner strong and deep, 
Where the heart the truth shall keep 
Lay it with a builder's care, 
For the temple resteth there. 

If you want an honored name, 
If you want a spotless fame, 
Let your words be kind and pure, 
And your temple shall endure ; 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



Wisdom standeth at the door, 
Come and see her priceless store ; 
Virtue gently guides your feet, 
Where the good and holy meet. 



XXVII. 
Count that day lost. 

Whose low descending sun, 
Views from thy hand, 

No worthy action done. 



XXVIII. 



Be good, my friend, and let who will be clever, 
Do noble things, not dream them all day long, 

And so make life, death, and that vast forever, 
One grand, sweet song. 



XXIX. 



We can gather round the fireside, 
When the evening hours are long ; 

We can blend our hearts and voices 
In a happy, social song ; 

We can guide some erring brother — 
Lead him from the path of wrong. 

We may fill our home with music, 
And with sunshine brimming o'er, 

If against all dark intruders 
We will firmly close the door ; 

Yet should the evil shadow enter 
We must love each one the more. 



POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 



XXX. 
Dare to be honest, good and sincere, 
Dare to please God, and you never need fear. 

Dare to be brave in the cause of the right, 
Dare with the enemy ever to fight. 

Dare to be loving and patient each day, 
Dare speak the truth whatever you say. 

Dare to be gentle and orderly too, 
Dare shun the evil whatever you do. 

Dare to speak kindly, and ever be true. 

Dare to do right, and you'll find your way through. 



XXXI. 

Think for thyself — one good idea, 
But known to be thine own, 

Is better than a thousand gleaned 
From fields by others sown. 



XXXII. 

My mother ! at that holy name 
Within my bosom there's a gush 
Of feeling, which no time can tame, 
A feeling, which, for years of fame, 
I would not, could not crush. 



XXXIII. 

Work ! and pure slumbers wait on thy pillow — 
Work ! thou shalt ride over care's coming billow 
Lie not down wearied 'neath woe's weeping willow, 
But work with a stout heart and resolute will ! 
Work for some good, be it ever so slowly — 
Work for some hope — be it ever so lowly 
Work ! for all labor is noble and holy | 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



XXXIV. 

Fail— fail? 
In the lexicon of 3'outh, which Fate reserves 
For a bright manhood, there is no such word 
As: — faiU—Bulwer. 



XXXV. 

Errors, like straws, upon the surface flow, 
He who would seek for pearls must dive below. 

— Dryden. 



GKEfc-AJDIE IB. 



XXXVI. 

1. Who is thy neighbor? He whom thou 

Hast power to aid or bless ; 
Whose aching head or burning brow 
Thy soothing hand may press. 

2. Thy neighbor is the fainting poor, 

Whose eye with want is dim ; 
Oh, enter then his humble door 
With aid and peace for him. 

3. Thy neighbor? Pass no mourner by; 

Perhaps thou canst redeem 
A breaking heart from misery ; — 
Go share thy lot with him. 



XXXVII. 
Hurrah ! hurrah ! for the Christmas tree ; 
May it flourish for age in its greenery! 
When the winter comes with its whitening snow. 
How proudly the Christmas tree doth grow. 



POETICAL AND PftOSE SELECTIONS. 37 

2. There are wonderful plants far over the sea, 
But what are they all to the Christmas tree? 
Does the oak bear candies, the palm tree skates? 
But sugar-plums, trumpets; doll-babies, slates, 
Picture-books, elephants, soldies, cows,« 
All grow at once on the Christmas tree boughs. 



Oh, the many homes it hath happy made 
When the little ones under its leaves have played ; 
Oh, sweet are the pleasures around that spring, 
And dear are the thoughts of the past they bring. 
Then long may it flourish, and green may it be, 
The merry, mighty old Christmas tree ! 
Chorus — Hurrah ! hurrah 1 for the Christmas tree ; 
Hurrah! hurrah ! for its mirth and glee; 
When forests of oak have passed from the land, 
The jolly old Christmas tree shall stand. 



XXXVIII. 

1. I shot an arrow into the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where ; 
For, so swiftly it flew, the sight 
Could not follow it in its flight. 

2. I breathed a song into the air, 

It fell to earth, I knew not where; 
For who has sight so keen and strong 
That it can follow the flight of song? 

3. Long, long afterward, in an oak, 
I found the arrow still unbroke ; 
And the song, from beginning to end, 
I found again in the heart of a friend. 

— Longfellow. 



38 POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 

XXXIX. 

Little masteries achieved, 
Little wants with care relieved, 
Little words in love expressed, 
Little wrongs at once confessed, 
Little graces meekly worn, 
Little slights with patience borne. 
These are treasures, that shall rise 
Far beyond the smiling skies. 



XL. 
Little rills make wider streamlets, 
Streamlets swell the river's flow; 
Eivers join the ocean billows, 
Onward, onward as they go. 
Life is made of smallest fragments, 
Shade and sunshine, work and play; 
So may we, with greatest profit, 
Learn a little every day. 
Tiny seeds make boundless harvests, 
Drops of rain compose the showers; 
Seconds make the filing minutes, 
And the minutes make the hours. 
Let us hasten, then, and catch them, 
As they pass us on the way ; 
And with honest, true endeavor, 
Learn a little every day. 
Let us read some striking passage, 
Cull a verse from every page, 
Here a line and then a sentence, 
'Gainst the lonely time of age ; 
At our work or by the wayside, 
While the sun shines making hay; 
Thus we may, by help of Heaven, 
Learn a little every day. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



XLI. 
Listen to the water mill : 

All the livelong day 
How the clinking of the wheel 

"Wears the hours away! 
Languidly the Autumn wind 

Stirs the greenwood leaves ; 
From the field the reapers sing, 

Binding up the sheaves ; 
And a memory o'er my mind 

As a spell is cast — 
The mill will never grind 

With water that is past. 

Work while yet the daylight shines, 

Man of thought and will ; 
Never does the streamlet glide 

Useless by the mill ; 
Wait not till to-morrow's sun 

Beams upon your way, 
All that you can call your own 

Lies in this to-day ; 
Power, intellect, and health 

May not always last ; 
The mill can never grind 

With water that is past. 



XLII. 

Priceless gem ! the pearl of truth ! 
Brightest ornament of youth ! 
Seek to wear it in thy crown ; 
Then, if all the world should frown, 
Thou hast won a glorious prize, 
That will guide thee to the skies. 



40 fOETlCAL AND £EOSE SELECTIONS. 

XLIII. 

1. What if a little ray of light 

Just starting from the sun 
Should linger in its downward flight — 

Who'd miss the tiny one? 
Perhaps the rose would be less bright 

Twas sent to shine upon. 

2. What if the raindrop in the sky, 

In listless ease should say, 
" 111 not be missed on earth, so I 
Contented here will stay ? " 

Would not some lily, parched and dry, 
Less fragrant be to-day. 

3. What if some acorn on the ground, 

Eefused its shell to burst, 
Where would the stately tree be found? 

Or if the humble dust 
Eefused the germ to nestle round, 

What could the farmer trust ? 

4. I am a child, it will not do, 

An idle life to lead, 
Because I'm small, and talents few; 

Of me the Lord hath need, 
Some work or calling to pursue 

Or do some humble deed. 

5. I must be active every hour, 

And do my Maker's will ; 
If but a ray can paint the flower, 

A raindrop swell the rill, 
I know in me there is a power 

Some humble place to fill. 



poetical and prose selections. 



XL iy. 
A little word in kindness spoken, 

A motion, or tear. 
Has often healed the heart that's broken, 

And made a friend sincere. 

A word, a look, has crushed to earth 

Full many a budding flower, 
Which had a smile but owned its birth, 

Would bless life's darkest hour. 

Then deem it not an idle thing 

A pleasant word to speak ; 
The face you wear, the thoughts you bring, 

A heart may heal, or break. 



XLV. 
Hearts, like doors, can ope with ease 

To very, very little keys ; 
And don't forget that they are these ; 

" I thank you, sir," and, " If you please." 

Then let us watch these little things, 

And so respect each other; 
That not a word, or look, or tone, 

May wound a friend or brother. 

XLVI. 

1. The fisher who draws in his net too soon 

Won't have any fish to sell ; 
The child that shuts up the book too soon 
Won't learn any lesson well. 

2. For if you would have your learning sta} T , 

Be patient, don't learn too fast; 
The man, who travels a mile each day, 
Will get around the world at last. 



42 POETICAL AND PHOSE SELECTIONS. 

XLVII. 

1. One by one the snowflakes fall 
Through the air, so white and small, 
One by one, they're coming fast, 
And the ground is hid at last ; 

One by one ; and now the town 
Is dressed in its winter's gown. 

2. One by one your acts all tell ; 
Ever seek to do them well ; 
One by one the minutes fly ; 
Soon they all will have gone by ; 
Then will come your robe of white, 
If each day you have done right. 



XLVII1. 
What taps so gently on the pane? 
"Please let me not without remain ! 
The winds are cold with snow and sleet, 
And I have nothing more to eat; 
Kind people let me in I pray, 
I'll be so good if I may stay." 

They opened then the window wide, 

And gave him crumbs of bread beside, 

And many days did he remain ; 

But when the sunlight warmed the pane 

He sadly drooped his little head — 

They raised the sash and " whirr" he fled! 



XLIX. 
Do what conscience says is right; 

Do what reason says is best; 
Do with all your mind and might; 

Do your duty, and be blest. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 43 

L. 
Idle hands, u I've heard it said, 

Doing nothing, 
Indicate an empty head, 

Doing nothing. 
With no useful end in view, 
Soon you'll find your friends for you 

Doing nothing. 

Knowledge never can be gained 

Doing nothing; 
Naught that's noble is obtained 

Doing nothing. 
If you would not long repent, 
Scorn to live a youth misspent, 

Doing nothing. 

Worthless, wicked boys I've seen 

Doing nothing; 
And they grew up worthless men, 

Doing nothing. 
Life to them a failure proved, 
As they spent it, all unloved, 

Doing nothing. 



LI. 

" I Can't " is a sluggard, too lazy to work ; 
From duty he shrinks, every task he will shirk; 
No bread on his board and no meal in his bag ; 
His house is a ruin, his coat is a rag. 

"1 Can" is a worker; he tills the broad fields, 
And digs from the earth all the wealth that it yields ; 
The hum of his spindle begins with the light, 
And the fires of his forges are blazing all night. 



44 POETICAL ANt) PROSE SELECTIONS. 

LII. 

1. A Hermit there was, 

And he lived in a grot, 
And the way to be happy 

They said he had got; 
As I wanted to learn it, 

I went to his cell, 
And when I came there, 

The old hermit said, "Well, 
Young man, by your looks, 

You want something, I see, 
Now tell me the business 

That brings you to me ?" 

2. " The way to be happy 

They say you have got, 
And as I want to learn it, 

I've come to your grot. 
Now I beg and entreat, 

If you have such a plan, 
That you'll write it me down, 

As plain as you can." 
Upon which the old hermit 

Went to his pen, 
And brought me this note 

When he came back again. 

3. 'Tis being, and doing, 

And having, that make 
All the pleasures and jDains 

Of which beings partake. 
To be what God pleases, 

To do a man's best, 
And to have a good heart, 

Is the way to be blest — Peter Parley. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 45 

LIU. 
1. "You arc old. Father William," the young man cried; 
" The few locks which are left you are gray : 
You are hale, Father William, a hearty old man ; 
Xow tell me the reason, I pray." 

2 •' In the days of my youth." Father William replied, 
•"I remembered that youth would fly fast, 
And abused not my health and my vigor at first, 
That I never might need them at last." 

3. " You are old, Father William," the young man cried 
" And pleasures with youth pass away, 

And yet you lament not the days that are gone ; 
Now tell me the reason, I pray." 

4. "In the days of my youth," Father William replied, 
I remembered that youth could not last; 

I thought of the future whatever I did, 

That I never might grieve for the past." — Souihey. 



g-:r,^:d:e o. 



LIV. 

There is beauty in the forest 

Where the trees are green and fair, 
There is beauty in the meadow 

Where wild flowers scent the air; 
There is beauty in the sunlight, 

And the soft, blue beam above : 
Oh, the world is full of beauty 

When the heart is full of love 1 



46 POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 

LV. 

1. Beautiful faces are they that wear 
The light of a pleasant spirit there; 
It matters little if dark or fair. 

2. Beautiful hands are they that do 
Deeds that are noble, good, and true; 
Busy with them the long day through. 

3. Beautiful feet are they that go 
Swiftly to lighten another's woe, 
Through summer's heat or winter's snow. 

4. Beautiful children, if, rich or poor, 
They walk the pathways sweet and pure 
That lead to the mansion strong and sure. 



LVI. 

If wisdom's ways you wisely seek, 
Five things observe with care ; 

Of whom you speak, to whom you speak, 
And how, and when, and where. 



EVIL 

1. Though but a trifle, something give 

To helj) the j>oor along : 
'Tis not how much, it is the will 
That makes the virtue strong. 

2. You have but little? Never say 

" 'Tis of no use to give : " 

A penny, if you give to-day, 

May make the dying live. 

3. Then give a trifle cheerfully 
From out thy little store, 

And it will all return to thee 
When thou wilt need it more. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 47 

LV1II. 

1. Yes, go, little butterfly, 

Fan the warm air 
With your soft silken pinions 

So brilliant and fair; 
A poor fluttering prisoner 

No longer you'll be ; 
There ! out of the window ! 

You are free — you are free ! 

2. Go, rest on the bosom 

Of some favorite flower, 
Go, sport in the sunlight 

Your brief little hour; 
For your day, at the longest, 

Is scarcely a span : 
Then go and enjoy it ; 

Be gay while you can. 

3. As for me, I have something 

More useful to do : 
I must work, I must learn — 

Though I play sometimes, too. 
All your days, with the blossoms, 

Bright thing, you may spend ; 
They will close with the summer, 

Mine never shall end. — T. A. Arthur. 



LIX. 
Yes, courage, boy, courage, and press on thy way ; 

There is nothing to harm thee, nothing to fear : 
Do all which Truth bids thee, and do it to-day; 

Hold on to thy purpose, do right, persevere! 



48 POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 

LX. 

1. Little tilings, aye, little things 

Make up the sum of life — 
A word, a look, a single tone 
May lead to calm a strife. 

2. A word may part the dearest friends — 

One little, unkind word, 
Which in some light, unguarded hour, 
The heart with anger stirred. 

3. A look will sometimes send a pang 

Of anguish to the heart : 
A tone will often cause the tear 
In sorrow's eye to start 

4. One little act of kindness done — 

One little kind word spoken — 

Hath power to make a thrill of joy, 

E'en in a heart's that's broken. 

5. Then let us watch these " little things," 

And so respect each other, 
That not a word, or look, or tone, 
Shall wound a friend or brother. 



LXI. 

Five minutes late, and the school is begun; 
What are rules for if you break every one? 
Just as the scholars are seated and quiet, 
You hurry in with disturbance and riot. 
Why did yqu. loiter so long by the way? 
All of the classes are formed for the day; 
Hurry and pick up reader and slate — 
Koom at the foot for scholars that's late. 



POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 49 

LXII. 

1. AVe are but minutes — little things ! 
Each one furnished with sixty wings, 
With which we fly on our unseen track, 
And not a minute ever comes hack. 

2. We are but minutes — yet each one bears 
A little burden of joys or cares. 

Take patiently the minutes of pain — 
The worst of minutes can not remain. 

3. We are but minutes — when we bring 

A few of the drops from pleasure's spring, 
Taste their sweetness while yet we stray — 
It takes but a minute to fly away. 

4. We are but a minutes — use us well — 

For how we are used we must some day tell ; 
Who uses minutes, has hours to use — 
Who loses minutes, whole years must lose. 



LXIII. 
A child went merrily forth to play, 

But a thought, like a silver thread, 
Kept winding in and out all day, 

Through the happy golden head, — 
Mother said, "Darling, do all you can, 
For you are a part of God's great plan ! " 

So she helped a younger child along 
When the road was rough to the feet, 

And she sang from her heart a little song 
That we all thought passing sweet, 

And her father, a weary, toil-worn man, 

Said, " I, too. will do the best that I can." 



POETICAL AND PILOSE SELECTIONS. 



LXIV. 

1. Away! away! the track is white, 
The stars are shining clear to-night, 

The winter winds are sleeping ; 
The moon above the steeple tall, 
A silver crescent, over all, 

Her silent watch is keeping. 

2. Away! away! our hearts are gay, 
And need not breathe, by night or day, 

A sight for summer pleasure ; 
The merry bells ring gayly out, 
Our lips keep time with song and shout, 

And laugh in happy measure. 

3. Away! away! across the plain 

We sweeep as sea-birds skim the main, 

Our pulses gayly leaping; 
The stars are bright, the track is white, 
There's joy in every heart to-night, 

"While winter winds are sleeping. 

—Emily H. Miller. 



LXV. 

1. Only a drop in the bucket, 

But every drop will tell ; 
The bucket soon would be empty, 
Without the drop in the well. 

2. Only a poor little penny ; 

It was all I had to give ; 
But as pennies make the dollars, 
It may help some cause to live. 

3. God loveth the cheerful giver, 

Though the gift be poor and small : 
What does he think of his children 
When Vt\ej never give at all ? 



POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 



LXVI. 
Shoulder to shoulder, every ready, 

All firm and fearless still 
The brothers labor — true and steady — 

"I can," and brave " I will." 

" I can " climbs to the mountain top, 
And plows the billowy main; 

He lifts the hammer in the shop, 
And drives the saw and plane. 

Then say " I can ! " Yes, let it ring ; 

There is a volume there : 
There's meaning in the eagle's wing : — 

Then soar, and do, and DAEE. 

Oh, banish from you every "can't" 

And show yourself a man; 
And nothing will your purpose daunt, 

Led by the brave "1 can." 



LXVII. 
Kind hearts are the gardens, 
Kind thoughts are the roots, 
Kind words are the blossoms, 
Kind deeds are the fruits. 



LXVIII. 
1. In the school-room while we stay, 
There is work enough to do ; 
Study, study through the day, 
Keep our lessons all in view. 

5. There's no time to waste or lose, 
Every moment we should use, 
For the hours are gliding fast ; — 
Sdon our school-days will be past. 



POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 



LXIX. 
The flowers give their fragrance 

To every passing breeze; 
The songsters sweetest music 

Is heard from all the trees. 

The mountains, hills, and valleys, 

Are full of richest store, 
To fill the earth with blessings, 

Till it shall want no more. 

The sun gives forth its brightness, 
And bringeth back the day; 

And earth is full of glory 

"Where'er its bright beams play. 

Then scatter blessings round thee. 
And strew them everywhere ; 
The joys thou hast are heightened, 
If others with thee share. 



gkr,.a.:d:e] id. 



LXX. 

1. Do your best, your very best, 

And do it every day ; 
Little boys and little girls, 
That is the wisest way. 

2. Whatever work comes to your hand, 

At home or at your school, 
Do your best with right good will ; 
It is a golden rule. 

3. Still do your best, if but at taw 

You join the merry ring; 
Or if you play at battle door; 
Or if you skip or sing. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



4. Or if }'ou write your cop}' book, 

Or if you read or spell, 
Or if you seam, or hem, or knit, 
Be sure and do it well. 

5. For he who always does his best, 

His best will better grow; 
But he who shirks or slights his task, 
He lets the better go. 

6. What if your lesson should be hard, 

You need not yield to-sorrow ; 
For him who bravely works to-day 
His task grows light to-morrow. 



LXX1. 
1. What does little birdie say, 
In her nest at peep of day ? 
"Let me fl y," says little birdie; 

" Mother, let me fly away," 
" Birdie, rest a little longer, 
Till the little wings are stronger ;" 
So she rests a little longer ; 
Then she flies away. 

2. What does little baby say, 

In her bed at peep of day ? 
Baby says, like little birdie, 

" Let me rise and fly away." 
" Baby, sleep a little longer, 

" Till the little limbs are stronger : 
If she sleep a little longer, 

Baby, too, shall fly away." — Tennyson. 



54 POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

LXXII. 
A child that lies, no one will trust, 

Though he should speak the thing that's true, 
And he that does one wrong at first, 

And lies to hide it, makes it two. 



LXXIII. 

There came to my window, 

One morning in spring, 
A sweet little robin ; 

She came there to sing; 
And the tune that she sang 

Was prettier far 
Than ever I heard 

On the flute or guitar. 

She raised her light wings 

To soar far away, 
Then resting a moment, 

Seemed sweetly to say, 
"O happy, how happy, 

This world seemed to be ! 
Up, up, little girl, 

And be happy with me." 



LXXIV. 
1. I once had a sweet doll, dears, 

The prettiest doll in the world ; 
Her cheeks were so red and so white, dears, 

And her hair was so charmingly curled. 
But I lost my poor little doll, dears, 

As I played on the heath one day; 
And I cried for her more than a week, dears, 
But I never could find where she lay. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



I found my poor little doll, dears, 

As I played on the heath one day; 
Folks say she is terribly changed, dears, 

For her paint is all washed away, 
And her arm's trodden off by the cows, dears, 

And her hair's not the least bit curled ; 
Yet for old time's sake, she is still, dears, 

The prettiest doll in the world. — C. Kingsley. 



LXXV. 
Work while you work, pla}' while you play, 

This is the way to be cheerful and gay; 
All that you do, do with your might, 

Things done by halves are never done right. 



LXXVI. 

March away ! march away ! 
To the play-ground lead the way : 
All our lessons now are past — 
Left foot first, and not too fast: 
Oh, tis nice each sunny day, 
After work to have our play. 

Off we go ! off we go ! 
All our looks our pleasure show : 
Round and round the pole we swing, 
Or we form the merry ring ; 
Or, joining in the active race, 
Swift we run from place to place : 
'Tis the time for sport and play — 
March to the play-ground, march away ! 



56 POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

LXXVII. 

1. Two ears and only one mouth have you, 

The reason, I think, is clear ; 
It teaches, my child, that it will not do 
To talk ahout all you hear. 

2. Two eyes and only one mouth have you ; 

The reason for this must be, 
That you should learn that it will not do 
To talk about all you see. 

3. Two hands and only one mouth have you 

And it is worth repeating; 
The two are for work, that you have to do: 
The one is enough for eating. 



LXXVIII. 

1. There is a child — a boy or girl; — 

I'm sorry it is true — 
Who doesn't mind when spoken to 
Is it? — it isn't you ! 
Oh no, it can't be you ! 

2. I know a child — a boy or girl ! 

I'm loth to say I do — 
Who struck a little playmate child : 
Was it ? — it wasn't you ! 
I hope that 'twasn't you ! 

3. I know a child — a boy or girl — 

I hope that such are few — 
Who told a lie ; yes, told a lie ! 

Was it? — it wasn't you ! 
It can not be 'twas you ! 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 5? 

4. There is a boy — I know a boy — 

I can not love him, though — 
Who robs the little birdies nests; 
Is it? — it can't be you ! 
That bad boy can't be you ! 

5. A girl there is — a girl I know — 

And I could love her too, 
But that she is so proud and vain ; 
Is it? — it can't be you ! 
That surely isn't you ! — Mrs. Goodwin. 

LXXIX. 

1. There's a merry brown thrush sitting up in a tree; 
"He's singing to me! he's singing to me! " 

And what does he say, little girl, little boy? 
" Oh, the world's running over with joy ! 

Don't you hear? don't you see? 

Hush ! Look ! In my tree, 
I'm as happy as happy can be." 

2. And the brown thrush keeps singing, "A nest do you see, 
And five eggs hid by me in the juniper tree? 

Don't meddle ! don't touch ! little girl, little boy, 
Or the world will lose some of its joy ! 

Now I'm glad ! now I'm free ! 

And I always shall be, 
If you never bring sorrow to me." 

3. So the merry brown thrush sings away in the tree, 
To you and to me, to you and to me ; 

And he sings all the day, little girl, little boy, 
" Oh, the world's running over with joy ! 

But long it won't be, 

Don't you know? don't you see? 
Unless we are as good as can be." 



58 POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

LXXX. 

1. Suppose, my little lady, 

Your doll should break her head, 
Could you make it whole by crying 

Till your eyes and nose were red ? 
And wouldn't it be pleasanter - 

To treat it as a joke ; 
And say you're glad, " 'Twas Dolly's 

And not your head that broke?" 

2. Suppose you're dressed for walking, 

And the rain comes pouring down, 
Will it clear off any sooner 

Because you scold and frown ? 
And wouldn't it be nicer 

For you to smile than pout, 
And so make sunshine in the house 

When there is none without? 

3. Suppose your task, my little man, 

Is very hard to get, 
Will it make it any easier 

For you to sit and fret ? 
And wouldn't it be wiser, 

Than waiting like a dunce, 
To go to work in earnest 

And learn the thing at once? — Phoebe Cary. 



LXXXI. 

Only beginning the journey ; 

Many a mile to go : 
Little feet, how they patter, 

Wandering to and fro. 



poetical and prose selections. 



Trying again, so bravely; 

Laughing in baby glee ; 
Hiding its face in mother's lap, 

Proud as a baby can be. 

Talking the oddest language 

Ever before was heard ; 
But mother (you'd hardly think so) 

Understands every word. 

Tottering now and falling; 

Eyes are going to cry; 
Kisses and plenty of love-words ; 

Willing again to try. 

Standing on feet unsteady ; 

Working with all its strength ; 
It reaches the mother's outstretched hands, 

And rests in her arms at length. 

Father of all, oh, guide them, 

The pattering little feet, 
While they are treading the up-hill road, 

Braving the dust and heat. 

Aid them ever when weary ; 

Keep them in pathways blest ; 
And when the journey is ended, 

Father, oh, give them rest. 



LXXXIL 

There is a little maiden — 

Who is she? Do joa know ?- 

Who always has a welcome 
Wherever she may go. 



60 POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

2. Her face is like the May-time ; 

Her voice is like a bird's ; 
The sweetest of all music 
Is in her lightsome words. 

3. The loveliest a of blossoms 

Spring where her light foot treads 
And most delicious odors 
She all around her sheds. 

4. The breath of purple clover 

Upon the breezy hills ; 
The smell of garden roses 
And yellow daffodils. 

5. Each spot she makes the brighter, 

As if she were the sun, 
And she is sought and cherished 
And loved by every one ; 

6. By old folks and by children, 

By lofty and by low ; 

Who is this little maiden ? 

Does any body know? 

7. You surely must have met her ; 

You certainly can guess. 
"What! must 1 introduce her? 
Her name is — Cheerfulness. 



LXXX1II. 
In silence I must take my seat, 
And give God thanks before I eat : 
Must for my food in patience wait, 
Till I am asked to hand my plate. 
I must not scold, nor whine, nor pout, 
Nor move my chair or plate about. 



POETICAL AND PEOSE SELECTIONS. 



"With knife, or fork or napkin ring, 
I must not play ; nor must I sing. 
I must not speak a useless word, 
For children must be seen, not heard. 
I must not talk about my food, 
Nor fret, if I don't think it good. 
My mouth with food I must not crowd, 
Nor while I'm eating speak aloud. 
Must turn my head to cough or sneeze, 
And when I ask, say, " If you please." 
The table-cloth I must not spoil, 
Nor with my food my fingers soil. 



a-IR-A-IDIE IE. 



LXXXIV. 

The little birds are wide awake, 

So early in the morn ; 
Just think how funny it would be 

To see the Eobins yawn. 

To hear the little Sparrow say 
" O dear ! 'tis hardly light ! 

Mamma, I want to sleep some more.' 
It would make you laugh outright. 

They hop out of their little nest, 

So cosy and so warm, 
And sing their merry, morning song 

In sunshine and in storm. 

And, now, my pet. run find mamma, 

And whisper in her ear, 
That when she wakee her birdie up, 

It will be sure to hear. 



62 POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 

LXXXV. 
See mamma, 'tis half past eight, 
I must haste or I'll be late; 
Teacher says, " Make this your rule, 
Never to be late at school." 

If I tarry here too long, 
I shall miss the morning song ; 
Give me, please, my book and slate, 
Haste I'll make and not be late. 

Day by day I'll spell and read, 
And my teacher try to heed ; 
Brightest scholars as a rule. 
Never come too late to school. 



LXXXVI. 

Patter, patter, comes the rain, 
Tapping at my window-pane, 
On the roof, and on the ground, 
Patter, patter, all around. 

Patter, palter, in the street, 
Making music low and sweet 
To the fields of waving grain : 
Welcome is the summer rain. 

See it coming down the hill 
In a little sparkling rill; 
Leaping, laughing, bright and gay, 
Pleasant words it seems to say. 

Much I love the gentle rain 
Tapping at my window pane. 
Making bright each tree and flower 
In the woods and garden bower. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



LXXXVII. 

: "Where has my little basket gone? " 

Said Charlie boy one day. 
: I guess some little boy or girl 

Has taken it away. 
And kitty, too, where has she gone? 

O dear ! what shall I do? 
I wish I could my basket find, 
And little kitty, too." 

I'll go to mother's room and look, 

Perhaps she may be there ; 
For kitty likes to take a nap 

In mother's easy chair : 
O mother ! mother ! come and look ! 

See what a little heap, 
My kitty's in the basket here, 

All cuddled down to sleep." 

He took the basket carefully, 

And brought it quickly in, 
And showed it to his mother dear, 

With little kittie in. 
But little kittie soon awoke, 

And looking all about, 
Began to purr, and then to stretch, 

And very soon hopped out. 



LXXXVIII. 

Do all the good you can, 
In all the ways you can, 
To all the people you can, 
Just as long as you can. 



64 POETICAL AND PEOSE SGLECTIONS. 

LXXXIX. 
Baby in her little cart, 

Dolly sitting by her side, 
Darling little baby Bell, 

Having such a merry ride. 

Eover harnessed for the horse, 
What a good old faithful dog, 

When Miss Baby wants to ride, 
Then he gently on will jog. 

Charlie walks along beside, 

See him with his nice new whip: 
Susie on the other side, 
- She is leading little Trip. 

How these darling little ones, 
Bun and frolic all the day, 

Knowing not how very soon, 
Childhood hours will pass away. 



xc. 

I am the wind, 

And I come very fast ; 
Through the tall wood 

I blow a loud blast. 

Sometimes I am soft 

As a sweet, gentle child, 

I play with the flowers, 
Am quiet and mild. 

And then out so loud 
All at once I can roar, 

If you wish to be quiet, 
Close window and door. 



POETICAL AND THOSE SELECTIONS. 



XOI. 

Dear mother, how pretty 
The moon looks to-night ! 

She was never so cunning before ; 
Her two little horns 
Are so sharp and so bright ; 

I hope she'll not grow any more. 

If I were up there, 

With you and my friends, 
I would rock in it nicely, you'd see ; 

I would sit in the middle, 

And hold by both ends; 
Oh, what a bright cradle 'twould be ! 

I would call to the stars 

To keep out of the way, 
Lest we should rock over their toes ; 

And there I would rock 

Till the dawn of the day, 
And see where the pretty moon goes. 



XCII. 
Do you know how many stars 

There are shining in the sky? 
Do you know how many clouds 

Every day go floating by ? 
God, the Lord, has counted all; 
He would miss one should it fall. 

Do you know how many babes 
Go to little beds at night, 

That without a care or trouble 
"Wake up with the morning light ? 

God in heaven each name can tell ; 

Knows thee too and loves thee well. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



XCIII. 

look at my kite, 
In its airy flight. 
How gaily it flies, 
Eight up to the skies. 

Pretty kite, pretty kite, 
In your airy flight 
What do you spy, 
In the bright blue sky ? 

1 wish I were you, 
To be there, too ! 
O, then, how soon 

I would peep at the moon. 

And see the man there, 
Who gives me a stare 
When I look up at night 
At his beautiful light ! 



XC1V. 
" Where is the little lark's nest 

My father showed to me ? 
And where the pretty lark's eggs?" 

Said Master Lori Lee. 
At last he found the lark's nest, 

But eggs were none to see. 

" Why are you looking down there? " 
Sang two young larks on high. 

" We broke the shell that held us, 
And found a nest on high." 

And the happy birds went singing 
Far up the morning sky. 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 67 

XCV. 
To bed, to bed, my curty head, 

To bed, and sleep so sweetly; 
Merry and bright, with the morning light 

Be up, and dressed so neatly. 

Then for a walk, and a pleasant talk 

About the birds and flowers ; 
And all the day, in work and play, 

Will pass the happy hours. 

And then to bed, to rest the head, 

And sleep until the morrow ; 
May every day, thus glide away, 

Without a shade of sorrow. 



XCVI. 

1. Down, down the hill how swift I go, 
Over the ice and over the snow; 

A horse or a cart I do not fear, 
For past them both my sled I steer. 

2. Hurrah, my boy, I'm going down, 
While you toil up ; but never frown : 
The far hill-top you soon will gain, 

And then, with all your might and main, 
You'll dash by me ; while, full of glee, 
I'll up again, to dash by thee : 
So on we glide — O life of joy ; 
What pleasure has the little boy ! 



XCVII. 
" I love you mother," said little John ; 
Then, — forgetting his work, — his cap went on, 
And he was off to the garden swing, 
And left her, — wood and water to bring;. 



POETICAL AKD PKOS£ SELECTIONS. 



" I love you, mother, said rosy Nell ; 

" I love you better than tongue can tell." 

Then she teased and pouted half the day, 

Till her mother was glad when she went to play. 

" I love you, mother, said little Fan : 

" To-day let me help you all I can, 

How glad I am that school doesn't keep." 

So she rocked the baby, till it fell asleep. 

Then stepping softly, she fetched the broom, 

And swept the floor and tidied the room ; 

Busy and happy all day was she, — 

Helpful and happy as child could be. 

" 1 love you mother," again they said, — 

Three little children, going to bed. 

Now do you think that mother guessed 

Which of them really loved her best? 



XOVIII. 

1. What is this tremendous noise ? 

What can be the matter? 
Willie's coming up the stairs 

With unusual clatter. 
Now he bursts into the room, 

Noisy as a rocket : 
" Aunty ! I am five years old — 

And I've got a pocket ! " 
!. Eyes as round and bright as stars ; 

Cheeks like apples glowing; 
Heart that this new treasure fills 

Quite to overflowing. 
" Jack may have his his squeaking boots 

Kate may have her locket ; 
I've got something better yet — 

I have got a pocket ! " 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 69 

3. Leather, marbles, bits of string, 

Licorice-sticks and candy, 
Stones, a ball, his pennies too ; 

It was always handy. 
And, when Willie's snug in bed, 

Should you chance to knock it, 
Sundry treasures rattle out 

From this crowded pocket. 

4. Sometimes Johnny's borrowed knife 

Found a place within it : 
He forgot that he had said, 

" I want it just a minute." 
Once the closet key was lost ; 

No one could unlock it ; 
Where do you suppose it was? 

Down in Willie's pocket! 



XCIX. 
Speak gently ; it is better far 

To rule by love, than fear ; 
Speak gently, let no harsh words mar 

The good we might do here. 

Speak gently: 'tis a little thing 
Dropped in the hearts deep well : 

The good, the joy, which it may bring, 
Eternity shall tell. 



C. 
1. I must not tease my mother, 
For she is very kind, 
And everything she says to me, 
I must directly mind. 



70 POETICAL AND PKOSE SELECTIONS. 

2. For when I was a baby, 

And could not speak or walk, 
She laid me on her bosom, 
And taught me how to talk. 

3. I will not choose a noisy play, 

Or trifling troubles tell ; 
But sit down by her side, 
And try to make her well. 

4. I must not tease my mother; 

I've heard dear father say 
When I was in my cradle sick, 
She nursed me night and day. 

5. She lays me in my little bed, 

She gives me clothes and food, 
And I have nothing else to pay 
But trying to be good. 



01. 

TBY, TBY AGAIN. 



'Tis a lesson you should 

Try, try again ; 
If at first you do n't succeed, 

Try, try again ; 
Then your courage should appear, 
For, if you will persevere, 
You will conquer, never fear; 

Try, try again. 

Once or twice though jou should fail, 

Try, try again ; 
If you would at last prevail, 

Try, try again ; 



POETICAL AND PROSE SELECTIONS. 



If we strive, 'tis no disgrace, 
Though we do not win the race ; 
What should you do in the case ? 
Try, try again. 

If you find your task is hard, 

Try, try again ; 
Time will bring you your reward, 

Try, try again ; 
All that other folks can do, 
Why, with patience, should not you? 
Only keep this rule in view : 

Try. try again. 



